


Dust Never Settles

by JenCforCarolina



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I'm a botanist not a fighter, It's pacifist grandpa!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenCforCarolina/pseuds/JenCforCarolina
Summary: He went to the woods for flowers, and found a family instead.





	1. Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully an ongoing little project chronicling the adventures of a pacifist botanist Guardian older than the walls and his springy sidekick of a nonguardian with a shotgun. I really, really like explaining Guardian things to Nonguardian people and this is opportunity for that! Fun times!
> 
>  
> 
> [Find it on Tumblr here](http://jencforcarolina.tumblr.com/post/155704829038/dust-never-settles)

“Contact. East.”

Mack dropped the pinecone he had been inspecting and snatched his notebook from the ground. “Which way is camp?”

“Southeast.”

The man let out a hiss through his teeth. His Ghost materialized at it’s usual place a little in front of his left shoulder. “Salvage or abort? Your extraction clearing this time is south, so theoretically we could try to swing by camp…”

“Is it worth the risk? How close is our movement?”

“It only tripped beacon one. Don’t know where it went after that.”

Mack pondered for a moment. “Not worth it.” He started walking, waving a hand over his face, requesting his helmet. Dusty obliged, transmatting it, and the waypoint on his HUD flickered to life. “If it is Fallen, it’s not like there’s anything irreplaceable at the camp. We can come back in a few days and salvage whatever remains.”

“The press book.” Dusty reminded him. “You left it out drying in the sun today. Least it was still out when I went to check the beacons. And there’s a storm on the front.”

Mack groaned. The press book -full of _seasonal_ blossoms from the area- was almost full and ready for archiving. Quite a blow to lose it. He pressed a hand to his face in exasperation. “Was it a large contact? Multiples?”

“No, somewhat faint, with a secondary blip. So probably two small creatures -Dregs, perhaps Vandals- one closer to the sensor than the other. You _know_ that could just mean a scouting party or the edge of a larger group.”

“I know, I know.” Mack grumbled. He sighed and scratched the nape of his neck. “I don’t want to lose that book.”

“Look, camp is closer to us than beacon one. Follow this,” a new waypoint appeared on his HUD. “And move up that little hill. It’ll shield you some and give you the high ground. Take a peek and see if you can risk grabbing it.”

“Okay, good plan.”

“They always are.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

His Ghost made an annoyed ticking sound and vanished.

* * *

Lorene focused on her breathing and the near silent shuffle of her mother Anie a few yards away.

The forest was dead quiet. They had learned long ago that when birds did not sing it meant they knew you were there. When they did not sing in the distance it meant someone was present in the distance.

And the only ‘someones’ in the forest were hunters, poised to prey on the weak.

They had weak, the youngest boy of their party had come down with fever, shook too much to walk. But the people needed food, water, had to move on. So he was gurneyed between two of the men, and the rest of the crew was spread out in their defensive formation, pairs just beyond visual distance from one another. All communication was left to whistles.

She enjoyed these patrols the most though, when she had an excuse not to speak to her mother, an excuse called “survival.”

A twig snapped and Lorene glanced in the direction. Her mother waved two fingers for her attention, the broken stick in her hand. Anie blinked once then jerked her head to the side. Lorene blinked pointedly in return, and followed her. They edged in the direction she had indicated for twenty paces or so before Anie stopped, dropped to a crouch, and whistled like a Cardinal. A sign for anomaly. Not confirmed good or bad. Lorene heard, in the distance, the sounds of birds that were not birds replying. She crouched as well.

She squinted ahead in the trees, looking for whatever strange thing her mother had seen. A patch of green seemed out of place, but she couldn’t tell why, until she noticed it was the wrong green. Too dark for this time of year, as the leaves were just beginning to bud, the last of the blossoms falling. It had no texture either, a solid patch of color, and geometric.

Anie crept forward, she followed.

The green rectangle resolved into a tent. A tent in the middle of the woods. Somewhat freshly placed. There was a smoldering fire in a circle of rocks in front, a book open beside it. Someone had _settled_ here.

The two women slipped into the camp.

There were a few crates, closed and latched. Locks on them that Lorene couldn’t figure out with a glance. Anie moved towards the tent with the pair’s weapon, a shotgun, in her grip. Lorene readied her knife and followed her mother a few paces to the left. They stacked on either side, and after a couple communicative nods, Lorene took hold of one of the door flaps and yanked it open, her mother shoving the gun barrel inside.

A moment passed and no shots went off, as Anie crouched to inspect the inside. Lorene folded the flaps up over the sides, leaving it open just in case. Satisfied, her mother backed out and nodded to her. Both turned to survey the rest of the camp.

Lorene went to investigate the boxes, running her fingers over the locks, trying to find any keyholes or seams. Nothing, the mechanisms holding the crate closed were entirely smooth, and try as she might she couldn’t pull the latches to open the lid. Her mother took another lap around camp, checking the ground and the forest around them, before she bent down to look at the open book, letting her shotgun fall into a relaxed grip. “Drawings.” She murmured, hardly above a whisper. Lorene moved to see as well, when a prickle went up her neck.

She felt his stare from across the clearing. Saw his figure out of the corner of her eye. She snatched her mother’s shotgun from it’s limp grip, aimed, barrel braced against her other fist, knife clutched tight. Without even a pause her mother whistled one long note. Danger. Help. Come now ASAP.

A man on the hill stared down the barrel from too far away to be afraid. His geometric helm -a smooth glass rectangle set in the middle- tilted from side to side, settling on each of the women in turn. Then he spoke.

“Is that altogether necessary?”

His voice was bored, pretentious even, as far from fearful as one could get. He made to take a step forward. Lorene’s face hardened, and Anie took the knife from her daughter’s hand, holding it at the ready.

“Please.” He sighed. “I’m unarmed. Really.” He turned his wrists outward, displaying an open palm and the book he was holding in the other.

Her mother advanced anyway.

He held out his empty hand in a strange, crooked gesture and she stopped, cautious.

“No closer.” He commanded. “I’m unarmed, I’d lose this fight, and I hear dying is quite the inconvenience.”

The women exchanged a glance, and they both edged another step forward.

The man’s hand flexed and her mother stumbled, looking as though she had been tripped, staring at him with a plain expression of terror. Lorene hissed and clutched the shotgun tighter, finger beginning to depress the trigger.

“Witchcraft.” Anie bit at him, jaw tense.

“I warned you.” He said. “I did not come here to die today.”

Footsteps behind Lorene as the others of their party trickled in, guns and guards raised. The strange man on the hill groaned and slouched his shoulders, bringing his free hand up and pressing three fingers to his temple. He was clearly exasperated but not in the slightest afraid. He held a haunting control over a situation of seven loaded guns, none of which were his.

“Oh now there’s more of you. Alright. Listen I just want my book. That’s all. Yes, that one right there.” He gestured with his elbow towards Lorene and her mother. Lorene glanced around her, saw the book open on the ground.

“This?” She asked.

“Yes that one.”

She handed the shotgun to her mother, who aimed it immediately back at the strange man. She bent to pick up the book and a few things fell out. The man made a disgruntled noise like a creaky tree. Lorene glared at him and gathered the items.

“They’re just squished flowers,” she said, squinting at their nearly paper thin forms.

“Yes.” The man said with extreme patience. “It’s a press book. Got flowers, herbs, all sorts of things.”

Anie perked up at the words. “Herbs?” She asked sharply.

“Yes. I’m a _botanist_.” He stressed. “I literally study plants, it’s all I do, of course I have herbs.”

“Which?” She asked.

He lowered his arms. “Are you in need of some?”

The tension seemed to falter for a moment in the clearing. Lorene’s mother glanced at her daughter, made a quick nod. Lorene turned and looked at the leader of their group, Kamal. He stared at the stranger for a few heartbeats longer, before letting out a breath and nodding once.

Their party relaxed, weapons lowering. Anie was the last to do so.

“Feverfew.” She snapped. “And elderberries.”

The man tilted his head. “Is it an infection or a virus?”

“What?”

“Elderberries are an anti-inflammatory.” He explained patiently. His previous sense of aggravation seemed to be gone completely, his posture entirely relaxed. “Feverfew is better for flu like symptoms. Nausea, dizziness, headaches.”

Anie nodded curtly. “That.”

“Okay. Feverfew and ginger then. For the best since I haven’t seen elderberries nearby this trip.”

He stepped down from the hill with a weird sort of grace. He seemed to glide… and was unbothered how everyone else in the clearing twitched at the movement.

“Aside.” He said, striding forward into the clearing. All separated for him like leaves swept by a breeze. Even Anie, usually steadfast, took two steps to the side when the man passed, a suspicious glance at his hands. He bent immediately at the first crate he came to, held out a palm and a small device emerged to interact with the lock. “Thank you.” He said curtly, seemingly to no one, as he closed his fingers and the device vanished. The lid popped open and he began to sift through a bundle of stalks, pulling a few.

He gestured his hand to the next crate over, and the device appeared again, like a little drone, floating over to it. “Next one over.” He commanded, and it drifted on before unlocking the next one. “Anyone know what ginger looks like?” Anie stepped forward with an evil eye still trained on him. He shook a hand in the direction of the case. “Grab a couple roots. Ought to be a couple stones in there too, I use them as a mortar and pestle. Someone else-” He pointed to Lorene. “Stoke the fire, get one of those canteens on. Shake it and make sure it has water in it.” He stopped suddenly, stood with the sprigs clutched in his hand. “Who needs this anyhow? No one here is coughing.”

Kamal turned around and waved back into the woods. Two of the group headed back the way they had come, returning a couple minutes later with the rest of the refugees, the ones carrying most of the group’s supplies and the young boy.

“Alright, bring him in here, in the shade.” The stranger walked over to the tent, paused for a moment and inspected the folded up flaps before shrugging and pulling the bedroll inside out a ways, fluffing it a bit. As he turned and held out an arm to usher the child in, the boy struggled and tried to back away, eyes fixated on the man’s helmet.

“Don’t let the mask get me.” He whimpered, a feverish flush to his skin.

The stranger settled back onto his heels, brought his hands up to take the helmet off. Raggedy hair shook out, wisps flying free of the small ponytail and bangs. He had tan skin a few shades darker from the more cream hair, and an anomalous mass of stubble. He gave an odd smile. “I’m not a mask, but close. Mack.” He held out a hand in offering, as a knight helps a princess from her carriage. “Now lie down would you? You’re very weak.” With nudges from the adults helping him, the boy complied. The man, Mack, retreated to oversee the boiling of the water and cleaning and preparation of the herbs.

Anie knew what she was doing, stripping the feverfew, but as Lorene set to work on the ginger she felt in her periphery the intimidating robes and looming figure of the witch-man. She’d decided he must be a witch, with his seemingly safe encampment and his strange clothes and odd words and general lack of fear anywhere in his actions.

“No, no.” Mack said, boots shuffling close to where she crouched, he squatted down as well and took the pestle from her hands. “Not like that.” Where Lorene had been rotating the tool, trying to crush the root by rolling one stone across the other, he grabbed it like a pole and pressed and squashed, smearing the ginger root in lines across the mortar. After a few passes he scraped it back up and dragged it out again. “Like that.” Lorene took the pestle back with only a hint of a glare before resuming her work. She could feel her mother eyeing him as well. He was not becoming popular.

The refugees spread out slightly, scouts positioning themselves in the loose circle formation they used when camping. Mack’s unlocking drone was still present, flitting around the trees beyond them. It would dart out of sight and back into it, in what seemed like a pattern.

“Where does that thing go?” Kamal asked, an accusing gaze between it and it’s owner.

“To check the sensor grid. Ensure all motion detectors are functioning.” He replied. Not even a glance in Kamal’s direction. “Reset those you’ve tripped.”

“You knew we were here.” Lorene accused, voice low and suspicious.

“The moment you passed the sensor, yes. You’re lucky I came back for the book too, or you would all be on your own.” Lorene wasn’t sure she’d call it luck.

“You came back for a book?” One of the others challenged. It was a ludicrous idea, to risk a life for paper and hide.

“I put months of work into that.” Defensive. There was a nerve. Lorene resolved to remember it. “Certainly I have many months more but they were all spring blossoms! I’d have to wait an entire year for the chance to find them again, fresh…” He shook his head. “I would have run had you been Fallen, and left it, but you lot are harmless.”

Those carrying weapons exchanged glances. Mack may or may not have noticed. The water had begun to boil in the canteen over the fire. Mack gathered the herbs and stirred it. “Like tea!” He exclaimed in Lorene’s direction, apparently pleased with himself. Anie took it, let it cool, and took up the duty of caring for the boy. His job apparently over, Mack settled back, sitting down on the needle covered ground in a spot with good view of the tent. He glanced around at the rest of the refugees, scattered around murmuring and restless.

“What are you all standing around for even? Make yourselves comfortable. Fever does not break overnight.” He waved his hands at them, like an old man shooing the group.

“We must keep moving.” Kamal spoke up.

“Where are you headed in such a rush? There’s hardly anything of note on this continent.”

“We’re not going to a place.” Their leader countered, his rope shortening with each annunciation. “We keep moving to survive. To not be caught.”

“Better ways to survive than that.” Mack rested his cheek on a fist, his elbow on a knee. So physically submissive sitting on the ground below a man with a gun but he had no fear, no deference. Nothing. “What about the city?”

“Cities get plundered.” Kamal was forcing patience.

“No no, not just any. _The_ City. The Last.” His inflection gained only blank looks.

“Right.” He muttered to himself. “Wrong continent.” A breath, an increase in volume. “There is a city. A _safe_ city.” Around the group there were muffled chuckles, snorts of disbelief. He took the mockery with a thin smile and smugly closed eyes. He rose from his place on the ground.

“How old are your guns?” He challenged. “How long ago were they built. How often do they jam?” Kamal did not respond. His narrowed eyes said he took it as a challenge.

Mack laughed through his nostrils and held up both hands, like a shelf in front of him. From thin air a weapon sparkled into existence, laid across his palms. It was small, pistol sized, and immaculate. Kamal stared for a moment before reaching for it gingerly. Mack allowed him to take it, inspect it. The blue metal of the slide was untarnished, unchipped.

“That was made less than a year ago, in a Hakke foundry. Cutting edge.” Kamal’s fingers traced the emblazoned name on the side. From her position Lorene could make out the K-K-E. “The City has industry, walls, a militia. It has guardians, and it has the Traveler.”

Anie’s head whipped up from where she sat, in silent disbelief. Kamal’s eyes left the gun and met Mack’s. The witch-man grinned without moving a muscle.

“Which way?” Kamal asked, placing the weapon back in Mack’s grip. It vanished as it had come, like his drone did. Sparks and glow.

“Unfortunately, across the ocean.” Mack broke his stance, relaxed from what Lorene had not recognized as tension until it’s absence. “And my ship is far too small to carry you all. It would be hardly fair to leave anyone behind so I’ll call for assistance.” He glanced around, an arbitrary headcount. “Two more medium jumpships ought to do. When do you want to leave?”

Anie rose from her place beside the boy. “Kamal.” She said, with authority. “Let’s speak about this a moment.” The man gave her a tired look but conceded, allowed himself to be led a ways off. Mack ran a hand through his hair as he watched. The cube shaped drone appeared at his shoulder, unbidden.

Anie and Kamal’s conversation lasted hardly a few minutes, terse and expressionless. They returned when they had finished, Anie settling back down again beside the Anister boy and Kamal re-approaching Mack.

“We’ll leave with all haste.” He replied. “As long as it is in agreement, with everyone else.” It was an informal gesture, everyone knew they would follow Kamal wherever he took them. Most of the others nodded. One woman began to wipe away tears that had crept in. Lorene felt herself growing similarly overwhelmed. There was a thought rising in her, an idea of being able to sit down somewhere, for as long as she liked, and not have to get up and take a knife. Not have to walk day in and out, masking trails and wading through rivers and praying enough food was caught for a meal.

Mack dipped his head. “The call will be made.” And he settled down next to the fire, pulling his helmet from where it rested in the dirt and donning it. A few short minutes later he gave Kamal a thumbs up and Lorene’s heart jumped a few paces towards a City she’d never known.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They could have all kept walking, but took a risk instead.

It was dusk when the other ships arrived. They thundered overhead, and from their bellies dropped two women.

One was clad in black and white, the other in shades of magenta and purple. Both were decked head to toe in armor, and carried weapons on their backs, their hips, and in loose, relaxed holds in their arms.

Their appearance caused a stir, and the crowd shrank back. With equal haste, Mack strode forward. The women looked so different from him in his rust red robes, but they still had a unity somehow, they all felt the same. Kamal approached as well, perhaps on an impulse of necessity, but even he drifted a few steps further away than Mack. Lorene could sense the relations forming. Mack was not a single odd man out anymore, he was connected with the two women in a way he was not connected with the refugees.

But at the same time, there was the polarity, beyond just the clothes. The warrior women stood shoulder to shoulder while exchanging words with Mack, as if he were speaking to one entity. There was a divide she could not place.

“Boy’s sick.” He was saying. “We are going to wait the night and see if his fever breaks. The travel may make him nauseous. Not to mention the trouble they’d have at intake, if Owl Sector’s people think he’s still contagious.”

Kamal found the courage to approach. “We can coordinate patrols for the night.” He began, offering conversation in one of the only subjects he knew, protecting people.

“Ve vil ‘andle patrol. Rest.” The woman in purple interrupted, with a voice that make Kamal blink in surprise. Her companion nodded beside her.

“You deserve it.” She soothed, in an accent loftier in tone but equally alien.

“But, certainly you’ll need to be relieved at some point.” He protested. “We are capable of guarding ourselves.

“Of course you are.” The woman in black and white dipped her head. “But this is our job. We are guardians. This is all we do.” She glanced at Mack. “You called for defenders, after all.”

Mack nodded and put a hand on Kamal’s arm. “They’ll handle it. And come tomorrow, you’ll never need to patrol again. The walls and the Traveler will keep you safe.”

Kamal looked around the group for a long moment before nodding, finally breaking off to return to the rest of the refugees and help with dinner. The knights exchanged a few further words with Mack before splitting off on separate paths into the forest.

There was a storm coming, thunder rolled in the distance. The refugees had gathered their things once more, moved further south to an open clearing at Mack’s direction. A chunky ship, a little greener than gunmetal, had flown overhead, sucked up Mack’s crates and supplies, and then alighted itself here, at the edge of the meadow. As the strange women moved off into the woods their ships landed as well, effectively filling the space.

Only the ramp to Mack’s was open, however. The interior was unsurprisingly littered with notebooks, papers, little leaves and bits of plants. It had taken him a few minutes to gather everything and stow it in crates, then pull them outside by the new fire to make space. The interior was small, but the refugees were quite used to huddling close together to sleep. They filled every inch of the floor, and many bedrolls had to be squeezed onto the lowered ramp outside, including Lorene’s. But in the end it was done -no one would be sleeping in rain and mud tonight.

“They look at you funny.” Lorene told Mack from her seat on one of the crates, still thinking about the warrior women. He belted out a short laugh. Surprisingly, the noise did not startle any of Lorene’s people, and only a few looked up curiously. They were growing used to him.

“Observant. Yes it’s because I’m the botanist.” He explained, perching beside her.

“They don’t like you because you study plants?” She was incredulous.

“Because I study plants and do not fight. I’ve got quite the reputation for it amongst the Guardians.”

“You are one of the city guard? All the way out here?”

Mack shook his head. “See, there is a city guard, a militia, of people like you, with families and homes and stake in the City. Then there are the Guardians, people like me, with almost none of that.”

Lorene narrowed her eyes. “You enjoy not making sense.”

“I do.” He affirmed with a wicked teasing smile. “But I will explain. The Guardians are blessed by the Traveler with powers of Light, abilities to help them in combat, among a host of other things. All Guardians are expected to join the war against the darkness, and all of the City’s enemies.  
When one doesn’t, well, most think they’re somewhat selfish.”

“Aren’t they right?” She challenged. “It seems a waste.”

“Oh, most certainly. But I’ve found my life’s work, my calling. Traveler be damned I stop now after so much.” He leafed through the pages of the notebook on his lap, filled margin to margin with words, notes, drawings. There were close ups of the edges of leaves and studies of the texture of bark.

It still seemed selfish, but at the same time Mack did not seem bothered by that. She kept a disapproving eye on him.

Dinner was more filling than it had been in a long time. Rather than rationing the party took a risk and pooled all the provisions they had and set aside half, just in case. The rest they passed out amongst themselves. A feast of young and underripe nuts and berries, as well as dried fish and squirrel meats. Spring had so far been kind, but even this much food was more than usual. Lorene cradled her handful of tiny green berries. Left alone they would have become blueberries, but those who needed food did not have the luxury of waiting. She took them one at a time, her face screwing up at the intense papery sourness they brought to her mouth. It was when she was recovering between nibbles she noticed Mack had taken no food.

“Don’t you eat?” She challenged. He shrugged. “Don’t need to at the moment.” His voice was chipper, as though he knew something she didn’t. She squinted at him.

“And your Guardians out there?”

“Fine as well.”

Without glancing away from him, she popped another berry into her mouth, fighting the sourness that drove waves of heat to her face. He chuckled as he watched her.

“Focus on your own food. We’re all adults and can handle ourselves.” And that was the end of the conversation.

The dusk deepened after supper, and the group cautiously settled down to sleep. It felt odd, with none of their people out on patrol. A watch was still organized, two people at a time, posted beneath the wings and engines of Mack’s ship. Old habits did not break after one rather eventful day.

Three times in the night Lorene awoke. The first time Mack was sitting up, staring at the fire as the rain poured around them. Her muddled mind half wanted to know why but she drifted back to sleep before she could think of a way to ask.

The second time the fire was out, but from dim lights on the ship’s landing gear she could make out Mack standing, facing out into the forest. The two present guards were beside him, and when a crack of lightning lit the sky she could see they had weapons aimed out. Lorene rose, propping herself up on one elbow, suddenly semi-alert. She watched them stand stock-still for nearly a minute, until the little drone arrived from the dark and blinked once at Mack. The men relaxed, and Mack turned around. He caught sight of Lorene and gestured for her to lay down again. It felt like a breeze on her arm, even from this distance. A subtle pressure was enough to make her elbow give way and settle her back into a sleeping position. She was out again before she could protest.

The third time he was alone again, with a new fire, or perhaps it was the same and the last time she had seen him was a dream. He was settled beside the Anister boy, whose breath was raggedly audible. The boy had been laid to sleep at the bottom of the ramp, farthest from the rest of the people, and his mother had fallen asleep beside him. 

In the dim light Lorene could just make out the gentle movements of Mack’s hand through the boy’s hair, then the motion of a cloth pulled from the forehead, dipped in a lidless canteen, and wrung before being replaced. Tirelessly the witch-man’s fingers drifted over the boy’s scalp, and she assumed or decided he was casting a spell. At the same time, she assumed or decided it was for the best after all, and her eyes closed again.

When morning woke her, Mack hadn’t moved from that general location -unless it had all been a dream after all. She blinked at him a few times, and when he didn’t notice, she attempted a whisper.

“Do you ever sleep?”

The two refugees on bedrolls closest to her took different toned breaths, their bodies beginning to wake. Mack did not seem to hear.

She shuffled herself up on one arm, watched him replace the cloth again, watched the boy’s eyelashes flutter as he tracked the man’s hand. Her movement woke Anie beside her, who wasted no time in rising and approaching, ignoring Mack’s presence to check on the boy.

“Not quite broken.” She murmured, a hand to his head to check for fever. A little louder Mack protested. “It’s improved.” She glowered back at him as more of the refugees stirred. People used to waking at the first signs of commotion.

“Dusty says the temperature has dropped from one hundred and two to ninety nine point five. Medically speaking that is a broken fever, though it’s still a degree higher than it ought to be.” He said to the glare.

“Dusty.” Anie echoed.

“My Ghost.” He replied, as though the words he spoke made sense.

“Ghost.” She spit his words back again, with increasing incredulousness.

He waved his hand and the drone appeared. “Meet Dusty, Dusty, meet....”

“Anie.” She said flatly, suspicious eyes on the floating cube, sitting back on her haunches in a thinly veiled attempt to remove herself from it’s presence.

“A pleasure.” The cube spoke, in a voice toneless and emotionless. Anie’s head reared back. Lorene herself could not help but stand, her momentum down the ramp carrying her a bit closer to them all. Mack smiled at her, lips pressed together. She learned that moment that he looked smug by default in early morning light. He gestured to her, palm out.

“And Dusty, meet-”

“Lorene.” She murmured out, gaze fixated on the cube. It turned to her, it’s metal certainly looked dusty. A matte brown with a more silvery center, and a blinking white light of an eye. It nodded to her in what was uncannily like a bow and then vanished in a shower of sparks.

It was too early for this madness.

Lorene set about breakfast, as the rest of the refugees awoke. There felt like more than usual, until she remembered the strange women who had taken over patrol the evening before. She squished some leftover berries from the night before into the bottom of a cup, filled it with boiling water from the fire. Sipped her sludge and watched Mack assuring the mother of the sickly child that there was improvement, “-and quite a lot too-” while Anie watched sourly.

“All will be well. I’ll stay with you through intake and assure the people in charge that he hasn’t been contagious in a long time.” 

The boy’s mother nodded and responded without any hesitation, no distrust, and Lorene frowned. How long had this taken, for an odd man in the woods to become accepted and trusted? A matter of hours?

And he was _odd_. She ran through a mental list. Unarmed. Did not eat. Did not sleep. Alone, but for a drone that could talk and open boxes with no locks. An outsider to people like him and people like her.

And he was _trusted_. Mostly.

“Witch.” She muttered, taking another sip. He finished his conversation and turned himself around on the crate he was sitting on to address Lorene.

“It’s Warlock, actually, if you want to be technical.”

“I’m tired of asking you to explain.” She replied dryly.

“It’s a classification of Guardians. One fraught with unnecessary stereotypes and ridiculous elitist infighting amongst the lot, but a necessary classification nonetheless. It is generally accepted Warlocks do things with books, something not always true but certainly so in my case. The women on guard right now are Titans, who generally lean towards being protectors and warriors.” 

“Uh-huh.” Lorene mumbled through her mug. “And you do not need to eat or sleep.” It was a sarcastic observation, an oversimplification of things she’d seen. Of course he’d eaten, slept, at some point.

“Correct.” He beamed, and she squinted at him. “You noticed yourself. Got it right.”

“You have to eat.” She sputtered. “And you’ll go mad without sleep.”

“Did you notice any provisions in these crates, on the ship? No, I have no need for it. And though many might say you’re onto something with that second half, in my case, it’s also not entirely accurate for Guardians.”

Darkness damned he was _so smug_. Lorene decided not to feed this superiority any further.

“When do we leave?” Anie asked, coming up from behind her daughter. 

“When everyone is ready.” Mack replied, an innocent tone to contradict hers -full of it’s customary accusation. “We’ll separate into groups to fit on the ships and that will be that. I can carry five more comfortably, the others will have to split among the Titans’ ships.”

“Us.” Anie said decidedly. “And the Anisters.” 

Mack nodded approvingly. “Very well. I’ll expect it. Ought to prepare.” He looked pleased, and nodded to Lorene. “Excuse me then. I’ll see you all in a little while.” Dodging other refugees still stretched out and enjoying a late morning, he headed up the ramp and disappeared into the belly of his ship.

Anie sat down with a little huff.

“You do not have to be so quarrelsome.” Lorene admonished her mother.

“I don’t like ‘im.” She grumbled, chewing some pine needles, leftover from her morning tea.

“Don’t have to. Soon we’ll be safe and never have to see him again.” Anie narrowed her eyes.

“He’ll stick with us anyway. I can feel it. Witch-man, their stench follows you.” So her mother had been having the same thoughts. Lorene wasn’t about to agree. It would only egg her on.

“He said it’s called Warlock, actually.” She replied haughtily, drawing a short glare.

“How eloquent.” The older woman sniffed, but her gaze flicked past her daughter. Lorene turned to follow it and saw the warrior women, the Titans, emerging again from the woods. The one in black and white had blood splattered across a gauntlet. Lorene remembered the second time she’d awoken in the night.

“What was out there?” She asked.

“Bear.” The purple clad woman replied. “Zad to be put down. Not much problem.” Lorene blinked, unsure if she believed it or not. Kamal stepped in before she had time to retort, taking over the conversation, confirming transport and dividing up the families under his care between the two women’s ships. The refugees were gathering their things, making small, temporary goodbyes. They always did, if there was ever a need for separation. A lack of finality meant a tether, a reason to believe you’d be rejoined.

Lorene returned to the ramp of Mack’s ship, set to work gathering her bedroll and tin cup. The man himself was carrying crates back into the hold from beside the ashes of the fire. They were being lined up more neatly than they’d been when he unloaded, and when he laid a blanket across two she realized why. A bed for the sick boy, who was doing better. He was sitting up, wrapped in his father’s coat, watching the activity around him and coughing every so often. The color was back in his face, though, a redness in his cheeks. Mack passed by and patted his head, and the boy smiled up at him unafraid. Lorene felt her lips tug up a little this time as she watched.

He was a witch-man, but maybe a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed my self-indulgent civilians-are-confused-by-guardian-mechanics and Mack is (and enjoys being) a cryptic little shit!


	3. Settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could have parted ways, but chose to stay instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we learn: Mack's default show of affection is giving people plants, and some of Jen's headcanons on living as a fresh refugee on the outskirts of the City.

Lorene straightened up from the dirt, wiped her brow. She felt her sweat turning the dust on her hand to mud, and it was alright. The morning was still chilly but the sunlight and the warmth of hard work more than made up for it. At her feet stretched the eighteenth of many rows, carved and weeded and de-stoned. Her mother worked the other end, hacking at a stump in the way of the trench with a rusty hoe, breaking apart chunks of soil. Lorene took a moment to rest against her shovel, rock on her heels, survey their land. It had been a good enough deal for most of the families of their little band. Land on the outskirts of the City, barren and empty. It was still well within the great walls, that rose from behind trees in the distance.

The land was given freely, so long as the families were willing to work it, and donate food to the City should there be a shortage. Finding a definition of how much was expected in that event felt somewhat elusive, but it sounded like a problem of the future. 

Together, they had arrived at these sparse lots, logged for lumber long ago, left full of stumps. First Kamal had helped Anie and Lorrene scavenge and build a shack. Then he left them to build his own, for his family, a few acres over. It was a start, a shelter for two. They would improve on it. The Anisters set up to their left, the family called Guchen to the right. 

It was pleasant, really, settling. Seeing tents and forts go up, then walls and roofs. No one knew truly how to build, they had been advised to construct basic shelter that would hold, then barter for help from those closer to the City to build proper houses. There was an order of a sort in the City, the closer to the Traveler you lived the better off you were. The Guchen family had ambitions, wanted to move some day inward. Lorene didn’t care. She was still giddy on safety, security, ownership. They had built homes, pooled resources, were tilling land to grow food. She didn’t mind being the poorest people in the known world. For once, they didn’t have to run. It was enough to keep her positive each day.

Anie grumbled over the politics of it all, over the unfairness. Anie had expected a little more, especially after seeing the City from the wall, the roads and lights and skyscrapers. She’d never seen wonder in the wilds. 

“They gonna keep coming and checking our shed?” Her mother spat from down the row. Lorene glanced over to see a man, certainly inspecting the work on their walls. A couple men had been by in the weeks past, from _Intake_. Their job was -evidently- to make sure new arrivals were settling as best as they could, to provide basic help. But there were more people to attend to than just Lorene’s neighbors, and people who had at least a little glimmer often got quicker reactions than those who didn’t. 

“I’ll check on it mama.” Lorene promised, driving her tool into the dirt before striding over, puffing up her chest and narrowing her eyes. Make it evident that her work was being interrupted.

But when she drew nearer little things caught her attention. The bends of the knees, the hold of his head.

“Mack?” She asked, suspicious, and crossed her arms as he turned to face her with a smile. 

“Everything going well? It’s a start isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She affirmed, squinted at him. “Why are you here? I didn’t expect to see you again. Ever, really.”

He feigned offense, delicately put a hand on his own chest. “Honestly I’m a little hurt.”

She flattened her eyebrows at that, unamused.

“I told you!” Anie called. She was halfway across the rows, headed towards them. “I told you we’d never get rid of him!”

“And good morning to you too.” He replied pleasantly. It gained him only a grumbled “Bah!” in return.

“Can I tell you to get off my land or are you one of them _Towerfolk_ that I keep hearing about, the ones above the law?” She dragged out the word like a brush through knotted hair.

“Well I could technically be lumped in with them, I tend to not spend my downtime in the Tower. And they usually don’t like me for that very much.” Anie squinted at him as though she were deciding if that made him better or worse. He appeared to ignore her.

“Gardening?” He asked, looking beyond them at the morning’s work.

“Farming.” Lorene corrected with a decided harshness.

“And what do you propose the difference to be?” Traveler she _hated_ his face right now. He just looked like he was purposely pushing her buttons.

“We farm to survive.” She snarled, hands on her hips. “Some of us need to eat.”

That drew out a chuckle. “Of course, I hadn’t forgotten. What do you plan to plant?” There was a slyness to the turn of his mouth, Lorene stayed wary.

“We were given corn.” She said. “Trade the extra for else. Some people down the road have an abundance of chickens, said if we give em feed they’ll get us eggs. 

“Lovely, lovely.” He nodded, seemed to ignore the second half of the statement, she didn’t know why she’d bothered. “Well, you’ve already got a starch then, but a little variety is always good.” He dug about in a pocket in the folds of his robe, it appeared deeper than it looked. From it, he produced an incredibly knotted potato.

Anie gave him a look part confusion and part worry. “Why’d you have that on you?”

“Found a whole lot of them up northeast, Old Europe. Filled a crate, figured there might be somewhere they could go to use.” He gestured to the knots. “Cut em up, one eye per hole. Records I’ve found say they’re hardy, give good yields.”

Lorene accepted the brown lump, hefted it a bit. “Thank you.” She murmured, a guarded tone. “What did you want for it?”

Mack shrugged, thumbs under his belt. “Not a thing. Like I said, came across it and thought it might be useful. I’ll get the crate over tomorrow, it’s going through processing. The people at the tower don’t like organic material coming in from the field. Some of my… compatriots… take back rather creative trophies. They’ve caused issues before and now I, a simple botanist, have to deal with it.”

Lorene gave him a dry stare. “A simple “you’re welcome” and “nothing” would have sufficed.”

“You’re welcome and nothing.” The smug bastard replied. Lorene gave him a nod, figured she ought to have expected that, and went around to the front of the shack. She put the potato inside on the three legged contraption that functioned as their table. Mack continued babbling on to her mother the whole time.

“I’ll keep an eye out for vegetables while I'm out now. Would look for fruit but that’s harder to grow and has a tendency to over ripen quickly. Tomatoes though, have huge yields, though they would have a short season here where it’s so cold. Might make them valuable though.”

“Herbs.” Anie interrupted, as Lorene came back out. Mack paused and blinked.

“Herbs? Ah, yes I suppose those would be very helpful.”

“Lots.” She said pointedly. “We’re a big group and if the Anisters keep making friends the community will be even larger. The City right there don’t give a damn about us out here but I do. And my people won’t be getting sick on my watch.”

Mack nodded, wholeheartedly. “Of course, of course. You can probably find something to start you off in just the woods back there a ways.” He pointed towards the wall. “But not everything grows here, not everything survives this climate. You might want to build a greenhouse. Later, of course, much later, one thing at a time, of course, of course.”  
For the first time, Lorene saw her mother nodding along with their witch-man, saw a breath of agreement, a link between the two.

“Well,” She cut in, determined to break the moment when it was good, before it devolved into inevitable argument. “If you’re both talking, I’ll get back to work.”

Anie harrumphed and broke away, back across the rows to their tools. Lorene nodded once more to Mack. “Thank you.”

His strange tilted nod back was a welcome sight, she realized. “Vegetables and herbs, and the potatoes will be by tomorrow. Eat those, sell the corn, you’ll be all set.”

“What an insightful plan I would never have dreamed up myself.” Lorene muttered. Mack chuckled.

“I know I’m not the only clever one in five miles anymore. I look forward to seeing you grow here.”

“We’ll see if the potatoes grow first.” She snarked, grabbed her makeshift spade, tightening the bolt that held the hand trowel to the longer shaft. “See you tomorrow.” She took pleasure turning on her heel and marching away, back to work. Mack was gone when she checked back over her shoulder, and she didn’t see him the rest of the day. But when the sun began to sink and Anie headed inside their shack to rest, she paused at the door.

“When did you have time to tighten the hinges?” Her mother accused. “And the steps don’t wobble anymore!”

Lorene just shook her head with a sigh. “That sly helpful bastard.”


End file.
